The fine line between good and bad is always blurred.
Living the life of a fugitive for over a decade, Adeline is approached about a job prospect. The mission is simple; recover the Tesseract.
Little did she know at the time, but that one decision...
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"I swung a knife at you."
"You've swung numerous knives at me, Bucky. Lucky for you I'm not fragile."
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"Need a room," I instruct the clerk behind the desk of the motel we'd found on the side of a busy highway "Off the books." Her unkept grey brow arching up at me, I pull a wade of the fifties from my pocket. Money's nothing more than an object. For someone who can make themselves invisible it's not exactly a difficult commodity to come by. Sliding it over the desk, I tap the tightly bound bundle "Shouldn't be a problem right?"
After a long moment the woman extends a perfectly red nail. Tugging the cash along the counter top. "Why would it be a problem?" With a snap of the band, she begins counting the notes "I'm getting older. Sometimes I tend to mix things up." Reaching under the counter, the clerk hands me a key to room twenty one. "Enjoy stay", he pulls a sweetly tight smile.
Ignoring her wishes I'm already out the door. Striding towards Bucky who is stood against the motorbike. Upon my approach his eyes flicker over, standing straighter. "Room twenty-one", I advise him holding up the key "Off the record."
"They just let you stay off the record?" Bucky questions me unsurely "You just asked?"
Shrugging I lead the way up the old painted white rail stairs "People do anything for the right price. Greed's a pretty easy motivator when you're on the run." A thoughtful hum is the only response I receive as Bucky follows my lead upstairs.
Entering the bedroom I sigh at the two twin beds in the small room. The familiar musty smell filling my nose I can't stop the cringe that curls on my lips. Dropping the black backpack on the bed I drop beside it as Bucky scopes the small motel room. Carefully leaning his head into the bathroom as I dial the number I know off by heart. Watching Bucky with my own sense of caution in the unfamiliar space. "Yes?"
"Have I thanked you yet for that heart-warming sentiment on Capitol Hill?" My lip tips up at the side "I swear I sent a fruit basket."
Natasha's laughter sings over the line, "What're friends for."
